The Chip
by jtav
Summary: Alex has blown up more things in the lab than on the battlefield. But Miranda's plan to save him from indoctrination is risky, even by his standards. When a beautiful woman breaks into an Alliance facility to save your life, well how can a man refuse? Especially considering their unfinished business.
1. Chapter 1

_There is no disagreement among cognitive neuroscientists theythat human cognitive abilities depend principally on the size and neuronal organization of the cerebral cortex. In the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, scientists wondered whether the reductionist approach of developmental neurobiology and the interpretive approach of cognitive neuroscience could ever be fully harmonized. The work of Dr. Miriam J. Kowalski in the 2040s was vital to our understanding of the human mind…_

The clock chimed the half hour, and I put the book aside. There was a part of me that liked being under house arrest. It was a glimpse into a road not taken, a life where I had stayed in the military just long enough to get my college money, and the heroics at Elysium had been done by someone else. I'd have been a doctor now, like Gavin Archer, only with better ethics. I didn't regret it. Someone had to stop the batarians and someone has to stop the Reapers, but it was good to keep the mind sharp. I wouldn't be one of those old soldiers fit only to hold a gun and to retire to a small farm after they finished their service. Someday the Reapers would be here in force, and I'd do my part to blow them to hell; but someday they would be gone, and the galaxy would need people to create instead of destroy. I intended to do my part there, too.

The pain drilled through my temples like a mining laser. It was like it knew when I had a doctor's appointment coming up and put in an appearance just in time to mystify the old windbags. I knew what it was: Object Rho. The headaches had started after that business with Kenson and popped up every few days since. Scans found nothing wrong with me. My memories were still my own, and I sure as hell didn't feel the impulse to worship the Reapers, but I knew what it was. Kenson and Harbinger had fired their opening salvo in the war against my brain. I'd managed, somehow, to survive, but only Shiala had ever been freed of the Reapers' pernicious influence. I had to kill them before they could destroy me.

Hence picking up my old interest in neurobiology. You had to know the terrain to win the battle.

The door opened. Serviceman Moss didn't salute me like James did, but there were other compensations—like the dark auburn hair she always kept in a bun and eyes almost as green as mine. Her body was lean and hard. She was exactly the kind of woman the Alliance would use in recruitment ads to convince teenage boys with the habit of thinking with the wrong head that they might want to enlist. She licked her lips when she saw me, an unconscious, subtle gesture. It would be easy to talk her to bed. My brain leapt into overdrive at the thought. She was athletic and beautiful, and I hadn't had sex since the last time the _Normandy_ had docked in Nos Astra, and I'd used iPartners to find an asari with a thing for blond humans. Yeah, I could probably talk Moss into it. Just the thing for a war criminal in legal limbo and a bored serviceman stuck on Earth during peacetime.

Except for the part where it could seriously fuck up her career. There were rules about these things. No fraternization ever, and no sleeping with anyone if they might get hurt by it.

"Time to go, Shepard." Her eyes fell on the book, and she smiled a little. "Enjoying your book?"

I fished a credit chit out of my pocket and tossed it to her. "Thanks for buying it for me. The exchange doesn't carry stuff like this." I gave her my best Hero of Elysium smile. "I really appreciate it."

She blushed. "Thanks. I shouldn't tell you this, but the brass is thinking about letting you have monitored extranet access. Maybe even increasing weekly recreation time."

I looked out the window. Vancouver was cleaner and shinier that Moscow had ever been. The grass seemed greener, the sky bluer. A few more hours out there would be heaven. I touched her forearm ever so lightly. "You are a treasure, you know that?" There were rules, but sometimes you had to bend them.

The blush deepened, and her lips twitched as if she were fighting a giggle. "Time to _go_, Shepard."

People had mostly stopped staring at me as I passed. They didn't hate me, they didn't pity me, they didn't even care about me. I was another marine who had gone Cat 6, just a little more flashily than most. I used to expect that Kaidan would show up and say hi or that Liara would use her contacts to spring me. Hell, the Illusive Man might decide he owed me for giving him the Collector base and order Miranda to mount a rescue. But months passed, and no help ever came. I was surrounded by strangers.

Moss stopped outside the door to Dr. Markham's office and let me enter. Markham was a picture perfect doctor, with an impressive mane of gray hair and a spotless lab coat. That would explain how he had risen to the rank of major despite being a complete quack.

But it was the woman in the room with him that made me catch my breath. Miranda. Her hair was blonde now, almost gold, and pulled back in a way that practically begged a man to pull the pins from her hair. She'd used some kind of dye to turn those vividly blue eyes of hers an ordinary brown. She carried herself differently, her posture loose with easy confidence. Whoever she was pretending to be had nothing to prove to anyone. But I would know that intelligent, measuring gaze anywhere. Heat sprang over me as memory flooded my senses.

_Miranda was irritated, but not angry. She didn't tap her foot like that when she was angry. "Do you actually plan to accomplish something by awakening the geth, or were you also born with the desire to poke hornet's nests and press big red buttons?"_

_"Says the only woman who can put resurrections on her resume. A talking geth, Lawson! This could be the greatest scientific discovery since we found the Archives, and I want in on it. Don't tell me you don't."_

_Lightning fired through her eyes as curiosity warred with caution. It was that lightning, not her body, that made her so damn close to irresistible: that desire to see, do, and experience the impossible. And it didn't get much more impossible than a talking geth. "I suppose someone should be on hand in case you botch the interrogation." She smiled, and I suddenly wanted to punch Jacob for ever being a big enough idiot to let her slip away. "I'll meet you in the AI core in five minutes."_

But also…

_Wilson had called Miranda an ice queen when we first met, but her mouth was hot and soft under mine. My shoulders scraped the metal of the bulkhead. We'd barely escaped being blown up on Heretic Station, so we were doing the most alive thing we could think of to celebrate. Blood flowed southward, and my pants were suddenly way too tight. I reached for the zipper at the front of her jumpsuit._

_But she put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me away, gently but firmly. "No."_

_"No?" I repeated incredulously, trying not to think about how good she looked with her hair mussed._

_She started pacing the length of the captain's quarters. "We know how dangerous this is, how likely it is that the Collectors will kill one or both of us. Now's not the time to let our hormones compromise the mission."_

_Her words somehow managed to penetrate the fog of lust, and my brain started working again. Cerberus didn't have fraternization regs, but the reason those regs existed was so that commanders could do what was necessary and not have to worry about sending the woman they were sleeping with to certain death. That went double when the enemy was a Reaper pawn. "No, it isn't." The words tasted like sawdust. "I hate the Reapers."_

_"Getting killed doesn't motivate you, but the desire to sleep with me does? I'll have to remember that."_

_And suddenly it was all too much. I closed the distance between us and seized her hands in mine. Her hands were mostly gloved, but the knuckles were tantalizingly exposed. I brushed my lips against them like the knights in the stories I used to read while trying to get warm in the library. "After the war is over…"_

"_After."_

But then Jacob had gotten killed and Miranda had gotten reassigned, and there had been no after. I hadn't even known whether she was alive or dead. Until today.

"And here he is now," Markham said. "Mr. Shepard is suffering from severe posttraumatic stress disorder. Hardly worth your time, Dr. Solheim."

"On the contrary." She'd adopted a slight Norwegian accent, just enough to be exotic. "Mr. Shepard's implants alone make this a fascinating case study. I was delighted when your superiors called me in to consult."

I heard the message as clearly as if she had spoken aloud: the cause of my headaches had something to do with my implants and Lazarus Project's director was here to fix it.

"Yes, his implants," said Markham with a contemptuous sniff. "Cerberus mad science. They rescued him from Alchera and jammed technology I've never seen into him. I wouldn't be surprised if they implanted him with some sort of control mechanism and forced him to blow up that relay."

Miranda didn't flinch, I'll give her that, just gave Markham a little scowl. "You believe that anyone with a strong enough will to survive exposure to a Prothean beacon could be constrained by a Cerberus control device? He would shoot anyone who tried."

Not true. I only threatened to shoot Miranda when she told me what she'd tried to do. It took her saving my ass from a thresher maw for me to get over it. "You know me, doc. Nobody's ever been much good at forcing me to do anything."

Markham just barely resisted rolling his eyes. Miranda's expression was carefully blank. "I'm quite familiar with Shepard's history of insubordination, mutiny, and causing general mayhem. He does not, however, have a habit of malingering. If the logs gathered from the SR-2 are to be believed, he had to be physically forced to receive medical treatment on several occasions. Your inability to find the source of these headaches is a testament to your skill, not Shepard's truthfulness. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to take his history myself. In private."

Miranda's act didn't falter until thirty seconds after Markham closed the door behind himself. The smile she gave me was the same large, crooked one she had worn when she reminisced about Niket. "So nice to see you, Commander."

"Likewise, Ms. Lawson. What brings you out of my neck of the woods? Can't possibly be the weather. Don't you know it rains a lot in Vancouver?"

"I see you've retained your oh-so-charming sense of humor." She picked up a datapad and light-pen. "Liara heard of your difficulties and asked me to help. I said yes."

"So Cerberus hasn't abandoned me after all? I was beginning to wonder there for a while."

The tension in Miranda shoulders, always slightly present, knotted and spread until she was as stiff as a piece of rebar. Her voice was like an arctic wind. "My association with Cerberus has been terminated. I'm here on my own authority."

I collapsed into the nearest chair. "You… You left Cerberus?" I looked at the door, just in case Kaidan wanted to burst in and announce he was going AWOL. Even before Lazarus, I had known who Miranda was by reputation: the Hound of Hell is responsible for most of Cerberus' successes and none of its failures. It was she who had made the organization a threat throughout the '70s and into the '80s. She had made me believe in them, that I could actually make a difference instead of fighting for a society so ossified that it only cared about preserving itself. "Why?"

"It's not important right now." Her expression changed, tender and more than a little pleading. "I was sorry to hear about what happened on Aratoht."

Despite what Miranda thought, I didn't always poke the hornet's nest. Subject changed. "I'm sorry it had to be done. If I could have warned them in time, we might have at least saved a few people. Damn Kenson. And it's only going to get worse once the Reapers are here."

"You did what you had to."

"I'm not looking for sympathy from you, Lawson. I know I did the right thing." Did it make me a bad person that they had stopped haunting my dreams weeks ago? There was truth in the old cliché: one death was a tragedy, but three hundred thousand was a statistic. Numbers flashing on a holoscreen. "I'm more worried about Object Rho. If I am indoctrinated, well, I hope you brought a gun with you."

"I have the reports, but tell me about it in your own words."

So I did. I told her about seeing Object Rho for the first time and realizing what it meant that someone as smart as Kenson had left it out in the open. Harbinger's voice taunting me. Visions of the Reapers' arrival and our inevitable extinction. Being knocked out. Waking up two days later to realize that I had mere hours to do what should have been unthinkable. "I kept waiting for weird dreams or that feeling of being watched that Chandana had, but so far it's just the headaches."

Miranda listened intently, pausing only to ask the occasional question for clarification. When I was done, astonishment and sadness warred on her face. "Direct exposure to an artifact like that should have turned you into a mindless husk."

"I know! I was there in that damn mine, remember?" I raked my hands through my hair. "If you're worrying about a nice way to tell me it's hopeless, don't bother. Just kill me." God help me, I was not turning into another Saren.

"I don't think it's hopeless. Far from it." Her voice was quiet, and the sheer conviction of it warmed me. I'd seen her tentative and anxious around Oriana and me so much that I forgot how certain she could be. It was a lifeline, and I clutched it with all the strength I possessed. "I have a theory, but I'll have to run some tests to confirm it."

Well, that was the best news I had had in months. "Theory? Do tell."

"I don't want to say anything in case I'm wrong."

"I thought you were never wrong?"

She cringed and rubbed her shoulder. "Yes, well, the past few months have taught me to have a more cautious view of my predictive ability. No hope is better than false hope. I think your headaches were caused by Object Rho, but I don't think you're indoctrinated."

"Anyone ever told you that you're a damn tease, Lawson?"

"A tease, am I?" Her eyes sparkled with sudden amusement, and I forgot how to breathe. Miranda was a beautiful woman, even with hair and eye colors that weren't her own. I'd have been lucky to have a woman who looked like her even on my best day. But it was more than that. A sudden fit of amusement like this one would come over her, or she would stay up long into the night helping Mordin and me with an experiment. There was passion in her, that mysterious energy that drove people to do the extraordinary. And I wanted some of that passion for myself. And this time, there was no mission, chain of command, or ghost of a dead friend to stop us.

"A terrible one." I stroked her cheek with my fingertips. Yes. Just as soft and smooth as it had been the first and only time I had touched her this way. A man could stroke that skin for hours and never grow tired of it. She sucked in a long, shuddering breath; and I took that as an invitation to continue. She wore no perfume, but a strong, clean scent filled the air. No nonsense, just like her. My fingers fluttered over to her lips. I pressed down and—

—and she caught my hand in hers. "Shepard, the cameras." I tried to take some comfort in the way her voice was shaking, but it didn't really work.

I looked at the ceiling, and the telltale red light blinked at regular intervals. Shit. It was video only, but exhibitionism had never been one of my kinks. I dropped my hands in my lap like a good boy. "There has to be somewhere we can get some privacy in this place. If I'm going to go crazy, I'd prefer to do it in the most enjoyable way possible. Assuming that offer is still good?"

Miranda shook her in exasperation. "You are incorrigible." She sobered. "Let's focus on the tests for now."

"Right. Tests." Worst-case scenarios flashed through my head. I was out of the loop these days, but that might've been a good thing. The Reapers could make me lead an army, or sabotage our defenses, or assassinate our politicians. "Wouldn't want me to strangle you in your bed if you are wrong."

"Shepard... Alex..." She leaned forward in her chair; and her hand hovered over my knee, almost but not quite touching. Her movements were stiff and awkward, but the heat from her fingers leaping towards me made up for it. "Before I joined the Lazarus Project, the scientist in charge said that you couldn't be saved. I proved him wrong. It took two years, but I did it. And I will do everything in my power to see that you last much longer than two years."

A hot lump formed in my throat. I had been wrong. Cerberus had left me. Kaidan had left me. The Alliance had thrown me under the bus. But I hadn't been abandoned. It was a very long time before I trusted myself to speak.


	2. Chapter 2

_I apologize for the delay. I'm having health problems, but I'm writing when I can. Thanks as always to themarshal for the beta and to Leah for help with the Russian. All errors are mine._

* * *

"You're out of your mind, Commander." Mikhailovich's face scrunched, making him look like a pug, and an ugly one at that. "I accepted this meeting as a courtesy to you, but the Harrier is nothing more than a gimmick. No stopping power at all."

There was a dull ache in my temples, but I fought the urge to rub them. That would have made me look weak. "It was very effective against the Collectors. The increased accuracy and rate of fire compared to a standard Mattock more than compensated for the loss in power."

He sneered. "Against the Collectors. Who, by your own admission, are all dead. The Alliance fights enemies that actually have armor and guns. You spent so much time with Cerberus that you think everything they come up with is effective. Consider yourself lucky that you weren't charged with treason. It's the batarians we need to worry about—thanks to you, I might add."

"It's not the batarians we need to worry about. It's the R—" I stopped myself just in time. "A skilled marksman can deal more damage with the Harrier than our standard issue rifles.

"There's your mistake. 'A skilled marksman.' A good weapon means even a wet behind the ears private can mow the enemy down. We'll be sticking with the Avenger."

The pain became a little sharper. "Damn it, Mikhailovich, you owe me. If I hadn't told Hackett to hang back, you and the 63rd would have been in the first wave in the attack on Sovereign. You know, the one with the ninety percent casualty rate?"

He didn't answer me, but pressed a button on the underside of his desk. "Tell Lieutenant Vega that he can collect the commander now. We're done here."

My shoulders slumped as James opened the door and led me out. "Didn't go so well, huh?"

"No, it didn't," I spat out. "How the hell did he ever get the job of approving research into new tech? It's like putting Kaidan in charge of wild parties. I had to talk Mikhailovich's ear off to convince him that the first_ Normandy_ might maybe, possibly, not be a waste of taxpayer money."

James shrugged. "The brass has been making us do more with less for years now. Damn budget cuts. "

"The budget won't matter when the Reapers get here. We need the best weapons money can buy. Thanix cannons on every ship. Cyclonic barrier technology. Silaris armor. We're cavemen fighting armies of tanks."

"And it's quite possible your suggestions would only arm us with swords," said Miranda's lightly accented voice. "Though it seems your reputation for passion was quite accurate."

I had seen Miranda only briefly and never alone since our first meeting a week earlier. Every time I did see her, she looked more worn and haggard. Her face was lined and there were dark circles under her eyes that even her impeccable makeup couldn't hide. "I would suggest you learn to moderate your temper, for the sake of your headaches, if nothing else."

"Any progress on that, doc?" She had sent me for almost as many scans as Markham. Sometimes I felt like I lived in the lab. "Do you need me for more tests?"

"No. I'm still waiting on results for the last batch. Today, I have a gift for you." She removed something from her pocket and handed it to James for inspection. "A pass. I convinced your superiors that limited, supervised time outside would improve your mental health and shorten the time you would have to spend confined. What would you say to a trip to the park?"

I looked out the windows that ran along one wall. It was a lovely day, not a cloud in the sky. A breeze ruffled through the trees. I closed my eyes, imagining the warm sun on my face. "I would say that I would like that a lot."

"Good. He needs something to loosen him up a little, and Markham told me _cerveza_ wasn't a good idea. Time with a pretty girl might be just the thing, Legs."

The temperature dropped ten degrees as Miranda scowled. "What did you just call me?"

James had the good grace to look sheepish. "Sorry. I like to give people names that suit them. Shepard here doesn't look like an Alexei, so I call him _Loco._ And you sure as hell don't look like a Katriana."

"How charming that my physical attributes were the first thing that occurred to you. Now, I'm afraid you'll have to do without the commander for a few hours. The whole point of this outing is to ameliorate his confinement as much as prudently possible. As one of his guards, you're part of that confinement."

"Sure, whatever." A calculating gleam entered James' eye. "Yeah, I understand. Loco told me stories about 'trips to the park' with girls. Mostly blondes. Can't blame you for being a little starstruck. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who's not."

I cringed, waiting for the inevitable biotic attack. If James were lucky, Miranda might leave his balls attached to the rest of him. But that attack never came. Miranda blushed and giggled like a teenage girl meeting a vid star. "I—he is very impressive. You understand my wish to be discreet?"

"Have fun, kids. Just make sure you have the car back before Dad gets home."

Miranda took my hand in hers while I tried to figure out what crazy alternate universe I had landed in. We swept out the lobby, and I breathed free air for the first time in months. It was sweet, not like the stale air that kept recirculating inside. Families with children milled about, with nary a uniform in sight. Couples walked hand-in-hand just as Miranda and I were doing. Normal, common, everyday life. People who had never heard of the Reapers. This was what I was fighting to save.

Miranda shifted slightly, her posture becoming more erect. It was amazing how she could shift between Katriana Solheim and Miranda Lawson without so much as letting down her hair. Not that I didn't have designs on letting down her hair, mind you. She smiled at me, her own smile, with no trace of simpering hero worship. "Enjoying freedom?"

"Much." I looked down at our hands intertwining. "Though I'm not sure I want to hear you giggle ever again. What the hell was that about?"

"A bit of misdirection. If we're caught somewhere we shouldn't be, well it's only the starstruck doctor and the notorious playboy doing the most natural thing in the world. Not the Hound of Hell meeting with the man she brought back from the dead."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you. So was there a reason that you wanted to meet? Is it my headaches?"

The subtle arrogance flew out of her as she dropped her head. "I wanted to be sure that I had your full consent to do what was necessary. I've ruled out indoctrination, but that attack primed you, for lack of better word, for future exposure. The headaches are a manifestation of your body fighting the damage. You'll be unusually susceptible to indoctrination once the Reapers do show up. I can show you the data tomorrow, if you want."

"Shit." I wasn't sure whether to cry or hit something. "I've got indoctrination hanging over me like some kind of Sword of Damocles. That's so much better. Can you stop it?"

"I think so. That's what I needed the latest scans for. I think I can minimize Reaper control to the point that it's nonexistent. But the treatment might be a little… extreme."

"Blowing up a relay was extreme. Do what you have to. I'm not scared of a little brain surgery as long as I get to keep my mind in the end." I squeezed her hand. "Vega was right. I do need to relax. It's a miracle I didn't pop a blood vessel dealing with Mikhailovich."

"The admiral always was a bit of a Luddite. Let me guess: complaining about a lack of raw damage?" I nodded, and her smile turned into a smirk. "Tell him that lengthening the barrel will increase the damage output. Or better yet, bypass him altogether. The sighting of heretic geth ships speeding toward the Perseus Veil would cause a panic if it were more widely known. And where there is panic, there is a politician anxious to be seen doing something. Like funding research into new weapons."

"I'm a bit short on politicians. Funny thing, blowing up a relay means no one wants to return your calls."

"But they'll still return mine. I don't have the contact network I once did, but a handful of the right people still owe me a few favors. I can spare one or two. And it beats watching you charge blindly into the fray. You're charismatic, but that doesn't mean you can steamroll over everyone."

"That's what I have you for. Well, that and making sure I don't cause any more explosions than absolutely necessary."

She gave me a wry smile and squeezed my hand. We walked together in silence after that, indistinguishable from the ordinary couples surrounding us. Nobody stopped me asking for an autograph. The man in the rumpled jacket and gray shirt couldn't possibly be Commander Shepard. Shepard was crazy anyway. It was strange not to have the fame and acclamation that I had worn and wielded for a decade. Miranda made up for it. I had imagined what it would be like to be with her: furtive liaisons as I pounded into her, both of us high on the sheer physical pleasure of sex. The scrape of her nails against my skin. Maybe talking afterwards. But not this. This was comfortable.

"Look at me!" A boy of no more than six or seven emerged from the crowd. His hair was mouse brown, and he carried a model frigate in one hand. He looked clean and well fed. No visible bruises. The sort of boy I wished that I had been. "I'm a starship!" He waved his arm back and forth, miming flight and making zooming noises.

"Cute, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Miranda whispered.

A loud roar filled my ears. A real frigate zoomed low overhead as it flew in for drydock. "I can catch it," said the boy as he tore off toward it. Somewhere in the distance, a woman shouted, but the boy didn't hear her. He ran faster and faster. "I can catch it!"

I've seen children shot, heard the sickening crunch of bones breaking in two places, watched as a man was impaled while he was still alive. That didn't stop this sick feeling in my stomach as I realized something bad was about to happen. The boy put a foot wrong and tumbled to the ground. His ship fell from his hands and crashed unceremoniously. High-pitched cries filled my ears.

Miranda reacted first. She jerked her hand from mine and took off with a speed that would have been astonishing if it had been anyone else. "Are you all right?"

The boy whimpered. "My knee hurts."

She examined his knee. It was covered in shallow cuts, and the pale skin was an unflattering shade of red. "I imagine it does. Hold still and I'll put something on it to make it feel better, okay? I'm a doctor." Her voice was soft and gentle, neither panicked nor dismissive. I watched as the woman I had seen make head shots on vorcha and send commandos flying with a flick of her wrist covered the cut in medigel. I closed my eyes.

_The cut on my arm felt like fire, and I could see bits of glass poking out. I tried not to scream. Mom didn't like it when I screamed. _Babulya_ didn't mind, but _Babulya_ was gone. Mom's teeth were pink like they always were when she got back from visiting the man with the tall hat. She would hit me if I bothered her. I opened the cabinet with my good hand. The medigel was past its expiration date, but it would probably still be good._

I shook my head. Those days were over now. Miranda finished applying the medigel. "There you go."

A woman broke through the crowd. Her face was red from exertion. "Kevin, are you all right?" she asked between pants.

"The nice lady helped me."

"He's fine," Miranda said. "Just a nasty scrape."

"Thank you," the woman said. She put her arm around Kevin and hustled him away to a waiting car. But at the last moment, he turned around and favored Miranda with a small wave. Miranda paused for a fraction of a second before she returned it.

When she returned to my side, her mouth was drawn into a tight frown. "Everything okay?" I asked her.

"Fine." She blinked and arranged her face into a smile. "Life really isn't fair, is it?

I looked at the shiny new car. "No, it isn't."

"Can we go somewhere a bit quieter?"

"Quieter sounds lovely." Away from these old memories and reminders of a life that was never mine. Miranda drew me into a wooded area. The outside world fell away and we were in the world of fairytales, with branches that twined together to blot out the sun. Birds tweeted, and the air was thick with the strong scent of pine. Peaceful, the sort of place I had escaped to with my textbooks in college.

Only one thing spoiled the idyll. Miranda walked beside me. Tension seized her back and shoulders. Melancholy clung to her like smoke, an old settled thing. Her eyes looked straight ahead, but her gaze was distant. A knife twisted in my chest. It wasn't the first time I had seen her like this, waging some private war, but that didn't make it any easier. I would tease, banter, and cajole. She would rise to the challenge, a warrior goddess in all her glory, but the grief and pain always returned.

Maybe I couldn't win the war, but I couldn't win this battle. Compliment by compliment and joke by joke. "You are the last person in the world I thought I would ever see dealing with a skinned knee, Lawson. You're a natural."

She smiled weakly. "When cells were assigned to less sensitive projects, staff would be allowed to bring their families with them. Suffice it to say that I've had to deal with my share of screaming children." She shook her head. "But I'm no natural. I wasn't meant to have children."

"People who aren't meant to have children are the ones who end up having them anyway."

"Or they just grow them," she muttered darkly.

Oh. Sometimes I forgot about Henry Lawson. When I was a kid, I had wanted to be just like him. He had clawed his way up from nothing because he was brilliant. His advances in genetics had made diseases like Huntington's a thing of the past. He always wore custom-tailored suits in the vids. He was rich, but he was polished too, brilliant and with a vision for humanity's future. Everything I ever wanted to be. Until I met his daughter.

"Enough," she said with a smile like glass. "We're quite alone, Commander. Unmonitored. And I believe you promised me something when the mission was over."

She sauntered toward me, the goddess once more. I licked my lips. Yes. I wanted her. I drew her into my arms. I had spent more than one night thinking how I want this to go. Usually, it was a frantic, hungry battle for dominance that exploded into mutual enjoyment. But now? I wanted to take it slow. Savor the freedom and savor her. The scent of perfume clung to her. It wasn't the subtle hint of vanilla that I had smelled every day on the _Normandy._ This was flowery. Katriana, not Miranda.

I pulled back. Her face was flushed, but her hair was still pulled back. That was all Katriana, too. I didn't want her. I wanted the woman who had conquered death itself. I pulled the pins from her hair. She shook it free. Gold spilled around her shoulders like the halo surrounding a saint in the old icons. She was grinning now. Her eyes glittered with ill-concealed hunger as she looked me up and down. "Enjoying yourself yet?"

"Much."

Blue light enveloped her, and blood rushed from my head. "And I've only just begun."

That was the last we spoke for a very long time.

I didn't know how long we lay there curled together afterward. My limbs were pleasantly heavy from exhaustion as I drew lazy patterns on Miranda's back. Her warm breath tickled my cheek. Her face was unlined, and a slight smile graced her lips. The Reapers, the Alliance, my headaches, it all seemed so very far away.

Miranda shifted slightly, affording me an excellent view of her magnificent breasts. "Everything you hoped, I trust? Worth the wait?"

"Fishing for compliments? For shame. We really do have to do something about that arrogance of yours." I took a strand of blond hair between my fingers. "James is right, though. You really don't look like a Katriana."

"Oh? What do I look like?"

A stray bit of light broke through and hit her. The hair in my hands was suddenly bright and alive. I knew what she was…. "_Solnste. _That's what you are. The sun."

She smiled at me, amused and affectionate. "Does the gratuitous Russian actually work?"

"You'd be surprised how often."

"_Solnste," _she repeated, rolling the word around like chocolate in her mouth. "I believe this affair is going to be rather charming."

"Charming? Give me a little credit." I brushed my lips against hers. "This is going to be an adventure."


	3. Chapter 3

_A special thanks to my beta, themarshal, who is responsible for all sexual tension in this chapter._

* * *

When I was a kid in Moscow, we couldn't afford omni-tools, and certainly not the nice ones with minifacturing capabilities. I would create model rockets or mechs that could help keep my room clean, but the visions existed only as drawings and calculations. It was good practice for my incarceration in Vancouver. Miranda had gotten me these wonderful trips to the park, even unfiltered access to newsvids, but the brass drew the line at tools. I would have to fix my greatest mistake on paper.

When I first saw what Gavin Archer had done to his brother, my first instinct had been to beat him to death with his own spine. I should have. How many times had my mother promised she would do better and wouldn't hit me the next time she was drunk. But I had let the experiment continue because controlling the geth was worth a single human life. EDI was friendly, but the geth were madmen that stuck humans on Dragon's Teeth the way warlords posed corpses as a warning. Anything that could stop that was good. Then I saw the marvelous talking geth and understood that I had condemned David Archer to hell for nothing.

But I could make it right. If I could just find a way to modulate the amount of data the mind would have to process at one time, I could change the Overlord apparatus into something that could be used to communicate with the geth inside their consensus. We could have true diplomacy, not domination.

I could feel Miranda's eyes on me and the sun beating down on my head. "Any progress?" she asked.

"Some. Maybe if the organic already had a graybox, we could scan the data inside and use it to project an avatar."

Miranda shook her head. Her face was lined with exhaustion from too many nights in the lab. "Personality storage and transfer is spotty at best. It would take decades for the technology to progress to the level you would need, and that's without the research being illegal anywhere outside of Illium."

"Well, that just means the Alliance needs to get its head out of its ass and legalize the research." I placed my hand over hers. She didn't move it, and the delightful warmth radiated through me. "You'd be able to digitize the mind. Upload it to other bodies when the original becomes ill or injured. Science fiction has been discussing the idea of brain uploading for decades. So why not?"

"Yes, science _fiction._ Verne and Wells wrote about spaceflight, but they were still long dead by the time humans left the planet. There are real logistical problems. Namely how you would safely update the firmware. And it would be decades more still to research a safe way to interface with the consensus. A monumental undertaking." The ghost of a smile hovered over her lips. "Like Lazarus."

"You aren't the only one who enjoys doing the impossible. I have to be ambitious if I'm going to keep up with the woman who raises the dead. And, after this war is over, maybe we can actually coexist with the geth instead of torturing autistic people because we're terrified." And maybe I would stop seeing David Archer in my dreams. "And if we take a few steps toward immortality on the way there, so much the better."

"The Reapers are coming, and you're thinking about after the war? The odds of anyone surviving are remote at best. We can't think about the future."

"That's why we have to think about the future. I'm fighting so I can build that better tomorrow. Maybe I'll survive and maybe I won't. Hell, maybe I'll be dead by the time the Reapers get here. But having those plans motivates me to take on those impossible odds. And raise your blood pressure. Trying to talk with the geth without depending on Legion is a very good goal. Just have to figure out a way to do it without going crazy."

"Let me see your notes. If you're going to tilt at windmills, I might as well make sure you do it properly." I passed the notes to her. Her brow furrowed as she read silently to herself. I watched her. When we had first met, I had vowed to never care what the "Cerberus cheerleader" thought of me or my ideas. But now? I wanted Miranda to see my vision of the future as viable, another tactic for advancing humanity.

"Not bad," she murmured. "Not bad at all. If I could get this to Brynn, the two of you could make some real progress. I think it would be simpler to simply create a digital avatar and control it with neural impulses. No personality transfer so someone else would have to take those steps to immortality, but we might actually get there within your lifetime instead of within mine."

"No good." I tapped one of the equations. "Lag time from issuing the command to when it's carried out is 7.3 milliseconds. You'd need to get it down to 3.2 for your way to be viable."

"It's not 7.3. It's five. You didn't take the derivative properly. See?" I watched in amazement as she reworked my equation and the numbers came out just as she said. "I think we can definitely shave off an additional 1.8 milliseconds in time."

I still stared at the paper. "You... Corrected my math..." It had been years since anyone had corrected my math. I raised my eyes to hers. "You corrected my math!"

Her smile changed to a smirk. "Did I wound your precious ego? The great Commander Shepard confounded because he forgot to carry the two?"

I tossed the paper in the air, pushing myself to my feet. "Screw it. I'm abandoning the project."

She sat upright, rolling her eyes. "_Alex…"_

I smeared it on thick. "Well, obviously the time I've spent in lockdown has turned my brain to mush. Can't even manage basic high school-level calculus... I should probably just stick with shooting things. Of course... I haven't held a gun in months, either... My aim might be off. Might need to resort to throwing rocks. Have we determined the effectiveness of rock-based projectiles on Reaper forces?"

She grinned effortlessly, and my heart flipped. Miranda Lawson: eager, unguarded, and playful. Because of me. Anything to keep her like this. "Of course, I'm going to have to rethink my future. No science means I'll have lots of spare time. Maybe I'll raise sheep? Alexei the shepherd. I think my great uncle raised sheep. Maybe that's too obvious? Goats, then?"

She threw her hands in the air and made to rise from her seat. "I'm leaving. You can pontificate on your bruised ego back in your-"

I swooped in, forcing her back to a prone position with my face just inches from hers. "Please, _solnste_, I'm an 'arrogant, maddening fool,' remember? My ego..." The gentle scent of pine needles wafted off of her. "Is perfectly intact."

She cocked one eyebrow up. "So you'll still be accepting my invitations to the wilderness every so often, then?"

"Of course," I grinned, lowering my voice. "It's good to have some, ah... stimulation every now and-"

She scoffed, pushing my face away from hers.

"Mental stimulation, of course!" I pulled her hand away from my face and smiled. Leaning down, I pressed my lips to hers. "I want you around." Again. "To correct my math." And again. "To keep me from making stupid mistakes." And again. The tip of her tongue played along my lips, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. "You really think it's viable?"

She nodded. "You'd have to create an actual prototype, but, yes, I think it's doable. Theoretically." Excitement surged through her voice like electricity. I'd like to think it had something to do with me being on top of her, but I think I know her better than that. "This could be the biggest advancement in artificial intelligence since the creation of the geth. Possibilities for diplomacy and espionage. And, yes, possible advances toward eventual true brain uploading."

"See, we're geniuses. And geniuses…deserve a little reward." My mouth moved lower, following the delicate lines of her throat. So perfectly pale and unmarred. Let's see what we could do about that. I scraped my teeth against her skin. Miranda moaned, deep and primal as she fisted her hands in my hair. My hands roamed down her body. Miranda used every trick in the book to transform herself into Katriana Solheim, but none of them could disguise the lean muscles that tensed and flexed in response to my every move. Pinpricks of red bloomed on her skin. Marked. Mine. I reached for the zipper…

"Are you wrestling?" asked a small voice. "Sometimes my mom and dad wrestle like that. They usually do it in a bed."

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ I sprang away from Miranda as if she were on fire and whipped my head around. It was the same boy Miranda had treated for a skinned knee, staring at me with a curious expression. Quick. How did you explain sex to a kid that hadn't had that conversation about the birds and the bees yet? "There weren't any beds around."_ Smooth, Shepard. The world is awed by your powers of oratory._ "What are you doing here? Where's your mom and dad?"

The kid nodded, seemingly accepting my explanation. "Dad's at work. Moms over there—" he gestured off in the distance, "talking to Mrs. Hutchinson. I'm looking for my ship. Have you seen it?"

Beside me, Miranda straightened her clothes and smoothed her hair as if she were caught _in flagrante _every day. "You shouldn't be here by yourself."

"But I—"

"No 'but's, kid. She's right. Your mom will be worried sick about you. You should go back to her. Get her to help.

"But—"

"Kevin Richardson, where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you!" His mother appeared suddenly, even more red-faced and terrified than before. "Don't you know that bad things can happen when you run off?" She looked at Miranda, recognition dawning in her eyes. "You're the doctor from before. Thank you again. And thank you both for finding my son."

I kept my mouth shut until they had both left. "So, do you think Kevin will tell his mom we initiated him into the facts of life a bit sooner than planned?"

Miranda flushed slightly. "I sincerely hope not."

I managed my best smile, but part of me still wanted to shrink to five centimeters tall and disappear into the shrubbery. "Another goal for the future: I will make love to you in a bed." I stretched out on the grass. It was warm. Comfortable. Normal. "You know what I still can't wrap my head around. There are parents out there who give a shit if their kid runs off. I used to play in the vents in our apartment building for hours at a time. Miracle I didn't get myself killed." _Babuyla_ had hated it, but it was just another way of staying out of mom's hair. "Good place to hide, though."

The memories crept up before I could stop them. "I remember you and your dad were in the news all the time. I was so jealous. You had all these nice clothes and the car. And Lawson was the Wizard of Brisbane who could do anything with the human body. I used to dream he was my dad." I sighed. "I was an idiot. Money just means you can hide being an asshole better."

Miranda drew her mouth into a tight line and her shoulders hunched ever so slightly. "It wasn't a picnic." She scooted closer and cupped my cheek with her hand ever so gently. "But it didn't break me. And your mother didn't break you."

"No." We were scarred, maybe even screwed up. But weren't broken. The scared, abused children had grown up to become the heroes that would save the galaxy and make sure kids like Kevin had a childhood to enjoy. "No she didn't."

Miranda's fingers ghosted downward until she covered my hand with her own. She leaned against me, warm and solid. I liked the feel of her weight against me, her hand on mine. She exhaled, and some of the tension left her shoulders. I wondered how long it had been since she relaxed. Since I relaxed. I draped my free arm around her shoulders as she trusted even more of her weight to me. _So this is how normal people do it._ I could get to like normal.

The comm link was shrill. Miranda bolted upright as whatever affection we shared was buried under the prim, nervous guise of Dr. Solheim. "Yes… I see… Of course, I'll come to the lab directly." She cut the link. "Your results are back."

Ice poured through my veins and froze my muscles until my whole body clenched. The headaches were still there, but ever since Miranda had arranged these outings, they had receded in strength and duration. Always there, but bearable, like the catch in my knee after Elysium. Just another thing to get through. And now the call and the tightness in Miranda's face reminded me that this was no ordinary headache. "And?"

"And I don't know yet." She paced in front of me. "I need to see the results for myself, but…"

"But you already know what they are, don't you? You knew the first day you came here."

Miranda nodded slowly.

"Then why won't you tell me what's going on? You keep saying that it's treatable, but you act like l have a death sentence every time the topic comes up." I rose to my feet. Miranda's back was to me, but the muscles in her shoulders were as tense as mine. "I'm a grown man. And I'm not scared of surgery or whatever else. Would you rather tell me now out here, or in the office with Markham staring over your shoulder and the cameras recording everything?"

"I might be wrong."

"I thought you were never wrong?" When Miranda didn't turn around, I took a step toward her. "You've always kept secrets. I know that, and I try not to pry. I haven't asked why you left Cerberus. Liara gave me some dossiers the yahg had assembled on my team. I didn't even look at yours. But this is my health here, Miranda. Not yours. Please, just tell me."

She didn't move. "As I said, you were exposed to an indoctrination attempt by Object Rho." Her voice was cold and dead. "Your implants drastically reduced the damage, but there was still damage. Exposure to infrasound has altered your brain chemistry very subtly. If the Reapers make any further suggestions, even that indomitable Shepard will won't be able to save you. There is a way to guard against those suggestions, but…"

I hated 'but's. They never meant anything good. "But what?"

"The only known counter to indoctrination was being exposed to Thorian spores. Trading one master for another. I believe we could replicate the effects and make you effectively immune to indoctrination."

She finally turned to face me. Pain etched lines on her face, making her look old and tired. "The only way to save you is to implant a control chip."


End file.
